The Adventure of the Vigilant Vandal
by Mysterylover17
Summary: Mrs. Goldstein has been the victim of a bothersome and upsetting crime. Will Holmes be able to bring this vandal to justice before his crimes become more sinister? EDITED and updated!
1. Chapter 1

**AN: So I'm back again after another long hiatus...not quite as long as Reichenbach but I fear I'm getting close. However, now I'm on winter break for six weeks and will have time to update this and many of my other fics! I started with this one because I've reedited it and hopefully it will be finished by the end of the week. YAY! Happy Holidays to everyone! As always, please read and review! **

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"Really Mr. Holmes, this business must cease at once!"

I looked up from the prostrate form of the consulting detective, to whom I had just administered a sedative in order to gauge and treat the knife wound he had sustained not an hour previous during the conclusion of a rather harrowing investigation, to find a heavyset, wildly disheveled woman standing in our doorway. The skirts she wore were badly tattered and her face was extremely flushed, as though she had just run some great distance.

"What the devil are you—"

"I am so sorry Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson," came the harried voice of our long-suffering landlady. She appeared a moment later glaring at the woman blocking the doorway. "I tried to tell her that Mr. Holmes was indisposed—"

"I care not for his indisposition," raged our visitor. "I am at my wit's end and the only person who can—"

"Ladies please!" I barked, noting with some chagrin my friend's escalating pulse. "I do not care whether this woman came unannounced nor," I said staring directly at our intruder, "do I care about your troubles, whatever they may be. All of this excitement is not healthy for my patient and I pray you, Mrs. Hudson, to take this woman downstairs until I say otherwise." My tone brooked no disputes and Mrs. Hudson gravely nodded.

"Yes Doctor Watson," she replied. "Will you be needing anything?"

I looked down at my friend and saw the sickly brown of lymph and the crimson patch of blood growing more quickly across his shirtfront. "Clean linens and boiling water," I replied, already rolling up my shirtsleeves.

Mrs. Hudson nodded and grabbed the other woman's arm. "This way Miss—"

"What about me?" The woman insisted. "I came all the way here from—"

"Leave your name and address with Mrs. Hudson," I said, trying with all my might to keep my voice level, "and my friend will call upon you the moment he is—"  
"I cannot go home, don't you understand anything?"

"Then kindly wait downstairs!" I sighed angrily. "Mrs. Hudson, please!"

Never in the decade and a half I had known her, have I ever raised my voice to our good landlady and she was greatly taken aback by the violence of my tone. She once again grabbed our visitor by the arm and forcefully steered her out the door, leaving me alone with my patient. When they had gone, I quickly cut the shirt from my friend, allowing the material to fall from his chest. I gasped when I saw the damage that had been inflicted on him. An ugly, bleeding gash ran the length of my friend's strong chest, the only mar, that wasn't self-inflicted, on his otherwise flawless skin. Thankfully, although extremely painful, the wound itself was not deep and I severely doubted its fatality.

A knock at the door interrupted any further contemplation and I rose from my friend's side, my knees cracking loudly in protest, to answer it.

"Here's what you requested Doctor," Mrs. Hudson said as she handed me a basin of smoking water.

"Thank you," I replied, moving aside to allow her to enter our flat. She set the linens she was carrying on the small table beside the settee where the great detective was lying. Her wizened eyes took in his injury and she gently ran a trembling hand through his thick, raven colored hair. Tears stung her eyes but her strong Scottish heritage refused to allow them to fall.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" She asked, as soon as she recovered her quickly floundering composure. Although an extreme misogynist, Holmes could, when he so chose, be extremely chivalrous towards women and he usually treated our landlady with respect and, what was for him, kindness, causing Mrs. Hudson to develop a somewhat maternally protective instinct where her younger lodger was concerned.

I smiled at her brief display of affection towards the man and I couldn't help but wonder how he would have reacted to it, had he been conscious. I set the basin on the floor and washed by hands before taking one of the linen pieces and used it to gently cleanse the wound. Mrs. Hudson, I knew, would stay with me until I dismissed her, serving as a makeshift nurse should one be required. "The woman?" I asked, wondering what had become of our strange visitor.

She shook her head angrily. "I managed to convince her to leave, but she, quite rudely, assured me she would call first thing in the morning, whether or not Mr. Holmes was indisposed."

I sighed and poured more antiseptic into the cooling water, where I was currently sterilizing my medical equipment. I removed a needle from the soaking basin and asked Mrs. Hudson to fetch a spool of silk from my medical bag which she quickly handed me. Deftly I threaded the needle and then bid Mrs. Hudson a goodnight, not wanting her to witness the more gruesome aspect of tending to Holmes's wound. With some reluctance to leave, and after electing a solemn promise that I would call upon her if she was needed or when I knew more of Holmes's prognosis, she exited and once again left me alone with my patient.

I quickly sutured his wound and, when I was finished, tied off the end and clipped it. Then, using some stale bread and a handful of herbs, I mixed together a poultice which I quickly smeared across his wound, in hopes of reducing the swelling as well as the pain I knew he would experience upon waking. Once that was finished, I dressed his wound with the bandages from my medical bag and then covered my friend with the ever ready afghan which could always be found on the back of our settee.

When I was finally finished, I washed my hands of the great detective's blood and, after packing my medical supplies, I reclined in my own armchair and watched my friend sleep, something I had done many times in the past after I had medically tended to him. Tending to his injuries, I realized, seemed to be another aspect of being his friend and associate and, despite the frayed nerves that accompanied the position, I knew I would not trade my place by his side for anything in the world. I closed my eyes, for a moment, reflecting on that particular thought, and allowed the many stresses of the day to very slowly drift away from me. I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, I was slowly brought back to wakefulness by a heart-wrenching groan.


	2. Chapter 2

I opened my eyes to see my friend attempting to sit up. I fairly leapt from chair and gently eased him back down against the settee. "Don't over do it Holmes," I softly admonished.

"What the devil?" He blinked his eyes repeatedly in effort to clear his fogged mind. There was no doubt in my own that I had been a bit heavy handed with the chloroform but when dealing with a patient whose will is as strong as my friend's it was safer to err on the side of caution.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I've just been released from Hades itself," came his slightly slurred reply. "What the deuce happened?"

"Before or after Cadavish attempted to completely skin you?"

He smiled quickly and then winced in pain. "I remember Cadavish but I can't recall much after—"

"You collapsed due to exhaustion and loss of blood," I said, uncaring of his personal vanity. "It took both myself and Lestrade to bring you back here so I could treat you properly."

For the first time in our long association, I saw my dear friend's face practically turn scarlet as he mentally imagined the Scotland Yard inspector seeing him in a moment of weakness.

"I hope," I continued with some heat for I was still extremely annoyed that he continually treated his body in such a careless fashion, "that you will at least learn from this. You simply sustained a deep flesh wound; perhaps next time you will not be so lucky."

"But," the detective countered with a rye smile, "I will always have you to help me out of these little predicaments."

I couldn't refute his statement, but was attempting to create a somewhat witty response when yet another knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. I answered it only to find Mrs. Hudson standing in the threshold, eyes still bleary with sleep. "Mrs. Hudson, is everything all right?"

She nodded and frowned ruefully. "How is Mr. Holmes?"

"He will survive," I replied.

"Thank God. But I've some unfortunate news Doctor."

"Are you unwell?"

She shook her head. "Mrs. Goldstein again Sir."

"Who?"

"The woman from yesterday Doctor," was her reply. "She didn't lie sir; she called first thing this morning and is even now in my sitting room."

I glanced at the clock on the mantel and frowned when I saw it was only a quarter to five. "She's here already?"

The landlady nodded. "I tried to turn her out but—"

"About whom are you speaking?" Came the slightly weak yet still masterful voice from the settee.

I sighed. "A woman called upon you late last night but you were indisposed. She promised to call first thing this morning however, I do not think you are well enough to—"

"Mr. Holmes I've enough of this disrespectful treatment!"

Both myself and Mrs. Hudson turned at the voice and neither of us was surprised to find it was our persistent visitor from yesterday.

"You feel you have been ill used here?" Holmes asked suavely over the indignant cries of protest from both myself and Mrs. Hudson.

She seemed surprised to have received any type of answer and was momentarily taken aback by the calmness of the detective's tone. "Yes. I called upon you last night because of a most pressing problem and these two—"

"You must forgive Mrs. Hudson and the good doctor," he said with a slightly patronizing smile. "I sustained an injury yesterday and both of them have a mother hen protectiveness when it comes to my well being. They meant no harm, surely Mrs. Goldstein, and I hardly think you were too inconvenienced taking a cab from King's Cross."

Our visitor's mannerism suddenly changed and I was hardly surprised. When it suited him, my friend could be extremely chivalrous and could manage to set a person's heart at ease as easily as he could strike fear into it. "You've heard of me then?"

My friend could only manage to shake his head and even that action caused him considerable pain. "I've never laid eyes upon you until this very moment however, Doctor Watson was kind enough to give me your name."

"And the fact that I am from King's Cross?"

Sherlock Holmes attempted to shrug but groaned when he could not complete the gesture.

"Really Holmes, I must insist—"

"In that particular region," he continued on as though I hadn't spoken a word, "they are digging up several of the roads for repairs and due to the heavy rains we've had, the area has been quite flooded. In the mud, which you currently have adhering to the soles of your boots, I noticed a great number of wood splinters mixed in with the clay. Where else, save King's Cross, would a woman of obviously meticulous habits find wood and clay on the soles of her boots? Only where streets are being dug up for repair. And since your appearance does not place you living in Whitechaple or near the docks of the Thames, the only logical conclusion is King's Cross, the only area of the West End that is having roadwork done at this time."

Our visitor was very much impressed by my friend's deductions. "Brilliant," she muttered softly.

"Elementary." The great detective stared at our landlady for a moment. "That will be all Mrs. Hudson," he said, favoring her with a grateful smile.

With an uncharacteristic sardonic quip, our landlady exited our flat, leaving Holmes and me alone with our strange visitor.

"Now, Mrs. Goldstein, pray do draw up a chair and tell us why you have been most insistent to see me."

Although angry that this woman had interrupted Holmes's convalescence, I could not shake the strong morals with which I was raised and helped our client into one of the wing backed chairs across from the settee and near the fire. I then went to work coaxing flames from the still cooling coals. When a fire had finally started in the hearth, I settled into my own chair, which I moved close to the settee, and waited to hear the urgent narrative this woman was so anxious to impart to us.

"I must apologize gentlemen," Mrs. Goldstein said demurely. "If I had known the seriousness of your condition Mr. Holmes I never would have bothered you with, what will seem undoubtedly, a trifle to you."

"There is nothing so interesting as a mere trifle," the consulting detective replied. Despite his bravado, my friend was growing paler by the second and I knew his greatly weakened constitution would not last much longer before he once again succumbed to extreme fatigue. I hoped that this woman's tale would be a short one so that my friend might get the rest he so needed to recover. "But pray, state your case."

Mrs. Goldstein's eyes, seemingly on their own accord, flashed towards me. Had Holmes of not been so gravely wounded, I would have risen from my chair and given them the privacy she seemed to desire. However, with Holmes's health in a precarious position, I knew I would not leave his side, no matter what he or his client said. Holmes must have sensed this unease on my part because he feebly raised a hand and clutched the bicep of my arm, which was resting close to his head. Although dismayed by the effort such an action caused him, I was, nonetheless, comforted by the gesture.

"This is my friend and colleague Doctor Watson," Holmes said through slightly gritted teeth. "You have my assurance that you may speak as freely before him as you can before me."

Although still uncomfortable with my presence, Mrs. Goldstein quickly realized it was both of us or none at all. She cleared her throat and stared down at the bearskin hearthrug as though she would find some source of strength in its well-worn and threadbare fur.

"I am not a native of London gentlemen," she began, her voice softening for the first time since I had known her, revealing an accent I had not previously heard in her tone. Since my friend did not comment on such a vocal switch, I realized his senses were not as keen as they would have been if I had not sedated him. "In fact, I never set foot upon English soil until about three months ago, when my husband's aunt passed away, leaving him her Kings' Cross home and a considerable amount of money. Since we were not very well off in New York, it seemed like a sensible decision to emigrate here and start life anew. Now, however, I wish we had never got off that God-forsaken ship."

My frosty feelings towards Mrs. Goldstein were beginning to thaw when I saw her in such obvious distress. "Has London been so cruel to you?"

"Cruel, Doctor Watson, is hardly the word I would use. I'd prefer a stronger adjective. However, I suppose 'cruel' will have to suffice. However, neither my husband nor I thought that at the time. It seemed the moment we stepped off this ship, that London was going to be the ideal city for us. What we did not anticipate or immediately realize was just how anti-Semitic this city is."

"A sentiment," my friend said wearily, "which has only increased thanks to the notorious Leather Apron's reign of terror in the East End."

"Precisely! Well, Irving and I moved what few possessions we had into our new apartment, which is by far, much larger then the small rooms we had back at home. At first our neighbors seemed to adjust well to us, many of them were extremely gracious."

"And I feel it is safe to assume this attitude towards you has changed?" Holmes asked, as he attempted to make himself more comfortable against the pillows.

"Changed is putting it mildly Mr. Holmes! It seemed as though the moment they discovered our religion, the friendliness they had all exhibited was merely a façade. In fact, none of them will have anything to do with us!"

"While this might be frustrating Mrs. Goldstein," Holmes said wearily, "I cannot possibly see what assistance I can be."

"You can tell me who vandalized our home and destroyed our valuables!"

"I beg your pardon?" I asked, not quite seeing the connection between this sudden ejaculation and the narrative she had begun to lay out before us.

"Two nights ago, Irving and I were just returning from the theatre when we found our house brutally vandalized. Our furniture and clothing was completely torn, debris littered the floor of the sitting room, drawers in our bedroom were pulled out and their contents scattered throughout the apartment. And, to make things worse, there were anti-Semitic writings across our walls with paint!" She stopped her tirade for a moment to catch her breath. "And this was not just some random act," she explained. "Our landlady, is an old thing with extremely poor eyesight but has the ears of a dog. However, she is extremely consistent within her habits and always retires at exactly a quarter past eight in the evening and rises at five o'clock every morning. And since our apartment is directly above—"

"It would suggest that whomever committed this crime knew the patterns of your household," my friend said quickly, "and watched your comings and goings until they knew you and your husband would be out of your flat for a considerable period of time." Holmes stared at her for a moment and took a deep breath, in attempt to collect his quickly failing strength. "But now, Mrs. Goldstein, I want to know, was anything stolen?"

Our client closed her eyes and leaned back against the chair. "My husband always keeps a few pounds beneath the mattress in our bedroom and—"

"Pray answer the question madam," my friend said quickly.

"Well yes, about twenty five pounds were taken and some of my jewels—"

"What were the jewels worth?"

"I beg your pardon Mr. Holmes!" Mrs. Goldstein ejaculated angrily. "I did not come here to be—"

"Pray calm yourself," Holmes said, his voice growing weaker by the second. "I did not mean to offend, however you must try to see things from my perspective. I like to eliminate all factors and then, whatever remains, must be the truth. So please, if you wouldn't mind telling me the worth of—"

"The vandals obviously did not know anything about jewels."

"Do not guess Mrs. Goldstein, it is destructive to the logical faculty and can perhaps misguide my own reasoning."

"I am not guessing Mr. Holmes. I know this for a fact."

"How?"  
"The jewels that were stolen were merely made of paste and nothing more. Obviously, if the vandals knew anything of what they were stealing, they would have taken my much more valuable heirloom pearls."

"These pearls," Holmes said with a quip of a smile, "are they worth a great deal?"

"I have never had them appraised," our client confessed, "but I was most pleased that they were not taken."

"Why is that?"

"Because, Mr. Holmes, whatever their monetary value might be, they are worth double that amount in sentiment."

Holmes raised his eyebrows at this assessment but said nothing.

"They were passed down through the women in my family starting with the great-great grandmother. My own mother had given them to me a year before she passed from this earth and I wore them, in her memory, at my own wedding."

"Besides the paste jewelry," my friend said quietly. I glanced at him and saw that he was struggling with every fiber of his being to keep from succumbing to the beckoning arms of Morpheous. I decided, at that moment, if the interview was not finished in ten minutes time, I was going to demand it come to a temporary end in the interest of my patient, Holmes's own wishes be damned. Perhaps he sensed something in my body language because his grey eyes angrily flashed a warning to me before he refocused his gaze on the woman seated before him. "What else was taken?"  
"Nothing of real value," Mrs. Goldstein confessed. "Some silver—"

"Expensive silver?"

She shook her head in the negative. "That's the puzzling thing Mr. Holmes. Our wedding silver is worth much more then the cutlery that was taken."

"Where," Holmes asked rather impatiently, "is your wedding silver stored? Would it be readily accessible to a thief who wants nothing more then to commit his crime and make a swift exit?"

Mrs. Goldstein nodded. "It is one of the cabinets which was torn open. Surely, even a blind thief could not have missed such a lucrative find."

"Hm. And the silver that was taken has no emotional sentiment attached to it?"

"None at all."

"I see. Tell me more about the vandalism itself. What was destroyed?"

"Everything, Mr. Holmes."

"'Everything,' is a vague answer, Mrs. Goldstein. In order for me to assist you, I need you to be precise as to the details and answer my questions clearly."

"Our walls, some of my husbands medical journals—"

"He is a physician then?"

"Yes."

Holmes looked at me, his tired eyes twinkling mischievously. "One of your lot Watson. Surely you are now more sympathetic to their plight and will not turn Mrs. Goldstein out onto the street without allowing her to finish relating her sad tale to us."

"Had you been alive a hundred years previous Holmes, you would have been burned alive as a witch," I growled, angry that he had broken into my thoughts so quickly.

"Warlock actually," Holmes said with an impish grin. "And believe me, there was no magic involved my dear fellow. However, now is not the time to explain to you the chain of reasoning I used to arrive at your current thoughts." He turned his attention back to our client. "Pray continue."

"Our linens were all cut and destroyed."

"Have you any photographs in your home Mrs. Goldstein?"

"Some, yes."

"And were any of these affected in any way?"

"No, thank God. The few photographs we have were mercifully left alone."

"A most considerate vandal and thief," Holmes said softly, more to himself then to either of us. "Before this crime occurred, did you or your husband receive any verbal or written threats?"

Mrs. Goldstein shook her head in the negative. "No, not that I am aware. But then again, my dear Irving usually brings in the post and, since he knows I am so sensitive, he might have hidden them from me."

Holmes sighed in irritation. "Has he ever appeared troubled recently after reading the post?"

"No."

"Then I think it is safe to assume that no threats have been made, although I will, undoubtedly, have to verify this claim with your husband." Holmes took a deep breath and stifled a groan, which caused me look at him in alarm. However, he waved away my concern and once again peered at our client. "And these anti-Semitic sentiments you previously spoke of. Can you elaborate on what they said?"

"I would rather not recite such cruel and scathing words Mr. Holmes."

"And I would prefer to hear them."

"Irving said it might come to this," and without another word, Mrs. Goldstein rummaged through the small handbag that was lying on her lap. In a few moments she produced a much folded sheet of foolscap which she handed to me. "Those are some of the sayings on our walls and mirrors. My dear husband had the foresight to jot them down for you."

I silently read the paper and frowned in disgust at what was written before handing it to Holmes.

"His blood be upon us and our children," Holmes read, his eyebrows wrinkling in concentration. "My knowledge of the Testaments is, I must confess, a trifle rusty but I believe that is a quote from one of the Gospels according to Matthew, referring to Pilate's washing his hands of Christ's blood." My friend looked at me quickly. "If you would be so kind as to consult the Bible on one of my shelves and find Matthew's Gospel I would be most—"

"Holmes," I said, my head beginning to ache from fatigue and aggravation, "I am not going to read and entire biblical book in order to find one passage."

Holmes raised his eyebrows in surprise at my uncharacteristic refusal of his request but did not comment on it. "If this is the case, then our vandal is not a common ruffian but a man, oh yes, robbery and vandalism are most certainly crimes committed by the male, who is educated enough to know his New Testament." He continued to read on. "'You killed whores now we shall kill you.' Our man is also well acquainted with current London events. Now then, Mrs. Goldstein," Holmes said putting the paper aside. "How have your neighbors reacted since this crime took place?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Has their attitude towards you and your husband changed at all since the night you went to the theatre and returned home to find your home broken into and destroyed?"

"Oh yes," she replied quickly. "They have been most gracious to us. Between us, I think some of them are embarrassed by what has happened."

"Undoubtedly." Holmes was silent for several moments. "Well Mrs. Goldstein, you have presented me with a singular problem and you have my assurance that I will give it my full attention. If you would be so kind as to leave your name and an addressed where you can be reached with the good doctor, I would be extremely grateful."

With a smile of gratitude, Mrs. Goldstein wrote the information down on a slip of paper from my notebook and departed Baker Street with a much lighter heart then when she had first arrived.


End file.
